


From Paris With Love

by Book_Lover2001



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Basically a seductress for the French spy agency, Both POVs, Eliott has to save him, Eliott is a spy, French James Bond AU, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lucas gets taken hostage, Lucas is a Red Sparrow, M/M, Spying, Torture, but they shouldn't be, sexual content but not explicit, they're in love, they're spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24619621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Lover2001/pseuds/Book_Lover2001
Summary: Lucas Lallemant is a French Red Sparrow, a spy that specializes in the art of seduction. Never once has he let his guard down, the biggest rule of the agency constantly echoing in his mind-- don't trust anyone. Yet, when he meets the new spy joining the ranks, he'll forget about the warning and let his guard slip. It's only when Lucas gets taken hostage by American counterintelligence in a mission gone wrong, that he begins to wonder if he put his faith and trust in the wrong person?No, Eliott will save him... right?-COMPLETED-
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105





	1. Location: unknown || Time: unknown || Date: May n/d, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> This story is told in three timelines- the past, the present, and for a split second the future. The past storyline moves chronologically with moments of the present and future interspersed between them. 
> 
> The first half is told in Lucas' POV and the second is in Eliott's. 
> 
> All the code names for the spies are the original Skam character names but they are the French personalities!
> 
> Eg. Lucas' spy name is Isak, Eliott's is Even, Manon's is Noora, Emma's is Eva etc...

**Location _: unknown_ || Time: _unknown_ || Date: _May n/d,_ _2020_**

Lucas had been in worse situations before, although the burning, pinching sensation around his wrists was starting to become an annoyance. Shaking his head, he tried to get his hair from out of his face, but it was no use. It was sticking to his forehead, the heat in the room blasting in through the vents like a sauna. The Americans were nothing if not creative with their techniques, but Lucas was French. The French don’t coward.

The door of the empty room opened and his captor sauntered in, a smug look on his lips as he made a point to slam it shut behind him. He looked nothing like the cliche of his country; he was well groomed, but not outwardly handsome. He was a forgettable face, another little gray man that could slip through the cracks and never be found again-- the perfect spy. There was a glint in his eyes as they raked over Lucas’ body, not with lust but with threat. The cloth in Lucas' mouth held him back from commenting on the gaze, but he conveyed all his challenge in his eyes. The man huffed, as he leaned against the back of the door, the sole of his left foot propped up against it in a pose. He began to fit his black leather gloves on his hands-- the best kind for confessions. Lucas tilted his head to the side, watching him with matching dominance. Lucas did prefer the British and their charming elegance. The Americans were always too ungraceful for his taste; they tried too hard to be intimidating but all Lucas saw was a cowboy in a dress shirt.

“You put up one hell of a fight,” the American spoke in English as he walked forward. Lucas lifted his chin up to him and mumbled incoherently into the cloth. The man’s eyes flickered to his mouth before reaching out to remove it, pulling it down to drop around Lucas’ neck.

“Didn’t expect that from a hooker?” Lucas’ own French accent heavy on the English words. The man laughed, a heavy sound that was like nails against a chalkboard.

“Is that what you are?” he asked, taking another look at Lucas, this time with intrigue. “No, you’re too tactical to be one.”

“Haven’t been in France long, have you? We’re a resourceful group,” Lucas bit back with a dry tone, humourless and dripping with bitterness. The man tisked, taking a step back. 

“Red light district is not my kind of crowd,” he spoke with a breath. “And you wouldn’t be my type anyways.” Lucas licked his lips, tasting the blood that had come from the punch he took earlier. 

“No?” Lucas teased, shifting in the bolted down chair. “I bet I could change that for you.” Lucas wasn’t really a hooker, well not technically. Although, his job was fairly similar to that of the many women and men that hung around the street corners of Paris at midnight. 

“I’m sure you would give it your best try,” the man shrugged, before his fist came in contact with Lucas face again. The numbing feeling spread up his cheek, as the American retracted. Lucas spat blood on the floor, shifting his jaw until he heard it click back into place.

“You must like me,” Lucas continued to prod. “You’re going easy on me.” 

“Are you sure you want to ask for more?” The man was standing firmly, his legs spread apart slightly, grounding himself against the cool dark floor. “Just admit that you’re French intelligence.” Lucas blinked at him, really letting him build his frustration. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucas repeated the phrase that had become his mantra. 

“You know, I’m going to kill you right?” the man told him, as if informing him of something he didn’t know. Lucas just blinked at him again. It was moments like these that Lucas really wished he had the nerve to take the pill. A swift bite and he would be dead before he hit the floor, but he knew he was going to be saved. Another blow came and Lucas just took it, unable to do much else. He was like a ragdoll, his head dropping down, his chin pressing into his neck.

“Tell me,” the man asked again, his patience evidently running thin. “Or I won’t go so ‘easy’ on you anymore, as you say.” 

“I don’t work for anybody. I’m not a pawn for this fucked up government. The president can go fuck himself.” 

“Nothing you say has any value around here unless it’s the truth,” the American fought back, his voice harsh. 

“Then you’ll kill me thinking I’m a liar, but really you’re just an idiot.” Lucas had run these simulations for training every year, and everytime they told him not to provoke the enemy. Another punch. Another hit. Fingers gripping onto his hair to hold his head up. More questions from the American. Another punch, and Lucas’ consciousness began to slip from him. He’s held his own for long enough this round. The next, he was sure would be less kind. He wasn’t looking forward to getting dunked in a vat of water or the threat of maiming that loomed over him-- he quite liked his appenges where they were. 

He could no longer make out the English words tumbling out of the man’s mouth at a rapid pace. He was no longer able to translate his thoughts, his brain starting to shut down. His hope was waning the further along this went and the thought of death was starting to become a relaxing notion in his mind, but like always  _ his _ face flashed in front of his eyes. The reason that making it out of here alive was the only outcome he would accept. Torture was painful, but worth it if it meant he could see those eyes again.

The blackness was starting to overtake his sight and as his eyelids fluttered close with the weight of the world on them, he heard the retreating footsteps of the American. He let himself be taken by nothingness of his brain shutting down as the heavy door shut and locked.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title "From Paris With Love" is a play on the James Bond movie name "From Russia With Love"


	2. Location: Paris, France || Time: 10h20 || Date: January 28, 2019

**Location: _Paris, France_ || Time: _10h20_ || Date: _January 28, 2019_**

“Isak,” Lucas introduced himself with his cover name. No one knew anybody’s real name in this line of work. Your real name was never uttered. You never told a single person who you really were, unless you wanted to risk your entire life. The taller boy smiled at him, his eyes full green-blue orbs like stained glass. The department was big, with many moving cogs in the machine; hundreds if not thousands of employees working on numerous assignments all at once. Yet, Lucas was positive he would remember seeing a face this objectively handsome. 

“Even,” the man shook his hand. They had been placed as partners for an assignment, which was a rarity for Lucas. He almost never got split up from his normal team. “What’s your specialty?” he asked Lucas as they sat down to go through a case file. They had taken over a small meeting room for this briefing. 

“Seduction,” Lucas answered as casually as he might give the time. Even raised his eyebrow, intrigued. 

“A real life Red Sparrow,” he mused. Lucas rolled his eyes, snatching the file from his hands. Opening it, he unearthed the few papers and photos that were given to them.

“You must be new,” Lucas commented, flickering his gaze up at him. They sat across from each other, the rectangular table separating them with a distance that felt like an ocean. “Well, the Russians have nothing on the French,” he informed the new guy with a huff. 

A chuckle came from Even’s mouth, and it was a beautiful sound that made Lucas’ heart race a bit faster. “I can see that,” Even smiled, shyly. Lucas bit the inside of his cheek at the flirtatious comment.“So what role are you playing in this?” Even asked as Lucas combed through the papers. 

“Looks like Pretty Boy here,” Lucas said, holding up a photo of a British parliament member. “Has a thing for twenty somthing twinks.” Eliott scrunched up his face at Lucas’ bluntness.

“He’s like fifty.” Most of them were unfortunately for Lucas, but every now and then he got an age appropriate, attractive social elite-- they were always a treat.

“Yeah, and he’s one of the only people who have the power to access the documents we need. He’s coming to Paris next week.”

“What do I have to do?” New guys were always the eager go-getters in the office. Lucas thought it was cute. 

“Take pictures,” Lucas read through a paper. “Blackmail, threaten, yada, yada, you get the jist.” 

“Pictures of what?” Lucas looked up at him, with his brows arched. His innocence was adorable. Lucas licked his lips waiting for Even’s brain to catch up. “Oh,” he said. “I see.” 

“Yes well,” Lucas sighed at his worry. “Someone has to do it, and the department recognizes my… talents? Special set of skills?” Even coughed, clearing his throat.

“Special skills?” he repeated, as if tasting the words in his own mouth. The corners of Lucas' mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“Polite way of saying that I have the skills to get a guy naked with a single bat of my eyelashes.” Even’s face paled slightly at the revelation, and Lucas hid his own excitement over the fact. Maybe working outside his normal roster of partners would be fun, and definitely interesting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sexpionage" is historically and famously used by the Soviets in the 20s and 30s and just refers to the tactic of using sexual activity to conduct espionage. "Red Sparrow" is a book and a movie (although I've neither read nor seen it), and is based off of the Soviet "sexpionage" school that would train their officers in the art of seduction. 
> 
> These women were known as "swallows" and had numbers for names-- although for the sake of this fic, their aliases are the Skam OG character names.


	3. Location: Paris, France || Time: 21h45 || Date: February 8, 2019

**Location: _Paris, France_ || Time: _21h45_ || Date: _February 8, 2019_**

Lucas led the man into a hotel room. It hadn’t been that difficult to lure him away with the teasing promises of the best night of his life. Lucas had arrived at the bar of the hotel only twenty minutes before, his outfit tailored just to the occasion. Everything clung to him like a wet t-shirt, fitting around his body to highlight everything that made him the most irresistible man in the room. The women he worked with, they could waltz into a room, a dress that hung just right, with a bright red lipstick and have a man latched onto their arm within seconds. Lucas didn't have the luxury of a plunging neckline to show off assets. 

Lucas had simply sat on the opposite end of the bar, allowing for their eyes to meet naturally. A perfectly timed sip of his drink; a well placed wink, followed by a shy smile and the man had downed his scotch and became Lucas’ willing victim. 

Lucas was good at his job. He was the epitome of innocent but deadly. His stature, his lean body, his young face, they all made him the last person you’d expect to be as deadly as an assassin and as tactical as a trained government agent. It was quite exsillerating to be the most powerful in the room without anyone knowing.

Flicking on the lightswitch of the room, Lucas ran his hand along the man’s chest, stopping at his belt, and pulling him forward by the loops of his pants. The man was drunk enough to give all his power up. Lucas began undressing him--- shirt, shoes, pants, boxers, before pushing him onto the bed. A tactical agent had arrived much earlier that day; the room was already wired, the curtains drawn back allowing a clear view from the opposing building. Across the street, Even was stationed with a camera, waiting patiently to take the blackmailing photos that he would use to get the documents. What documents? That was for Even to know and for Lucas to not inquire about. Secrets piled one on top of each other in this profession and if honesty and clarity were important values, then this job wasn’t for you. 

“Are you done teasing, love?” the man said in English with his thick accent. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his sights lingering on Lucas’ fully clothed body with expecting eyes. Biting back a comment, Lucas obliged, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, popping each one of them out with lingering fingers. The man licked his lips hungrily, and it was actions like that, that Lucas used to shutter at. But he learned very quickly that his body belonged to the state, and not himself. Lustful looks no longer made him want to run. He shucked off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. Lucas removed his pants, letting them join the heap of strewn clothes, revealing a pair of black lace underwear. He didn’t normally go all out for simple blackmail ops, but in letting his eyes flicker out the window, he knew why he did tonight.

The man motioned for Lucas to join him and Lucas let his acting abilities take over for the night. 


	4. Location: Paris, France || Time: 22h02 || Date: February 8, 2019

**Location: _Paris, France_ || Time: _22h02_ || Date: _February 8, 2019_**

Getting dressed as quickly as he could, Lucas fled from the room and out of the hotel, leaving the man utterly confused in his wake. 

Even was waiting for him down the street in an unmarked car, ready to drive them back to the department headquarters. They weren’t allowed to reveal where they lived, or Lucas would have made him take him straight home so he could take a shower as soon as possible. The moment the door shut after Lucas, Eliott drove them away down the still fairly busy Parisian streets. Reaching into the backseat, Lucas had a bag prepared for himself. Rummaging through it, he found the package of mouthwash tabs he kept on hand. He placed three on his tongue before tossing the bag back. Looking over he found Even watching him, his expression emotionless, but Lucas knew the look all too well. He had seen it on many partners, and so had his fellow ‘Red Sparrows’. 

“It’s okay, you know?” Lucas started, shifting in his seat to face him. The tabs sent a tingling burning sensation down his throat, making every breath feel cold. Even didn’t meet his eye as he drove. “I’m okay. I promise. This is my job, it’s what I do. I wouldn’t do it, if I wasn’t okay with it.” The other boy’s jaw was set tightly, and Lucas didn’t know if it was in disgust with Lucas, or with the situation.

“Okay,” Even eventually answered, his voice quieter than Lucas’. Reaching between his feet, Lucas took the camera out of it’s bag. Turning it on, he began going through the photos. They were the average blackmail photos that movies and crime dramas showed being taken of cheating lovers or crooked cops.

“Hmm, you’re good at this. Maybe I’ll have you take some more photos of me,” Lucas said playfully trying to lighten the mood. They were actually pretty good-- well as good as these types of photos could be.

“I know my way around a camera,” Even told him, warming up to the change in conversation. “I was an artist-- still am, I guess.” Lucas knew the rules of the job. No real names. No contact outside of work. No personal information. This work only existed between the four walls of their office.

“You really shouldn’t tell me things about yourself,” Lucas warned, putting the camera away. “You don’t know me. I could track down your identity and sell it for millions.” Although it was a joke, it wasn’t really. There was another rule in this line of work: trust no one.

“What if I said, I trust you?” Even humoured, with a shrug. 

“I’d call you a naive idiot,” he replied honestly. Lucas would never betray one of his fellow agents, but Even didn’t know that. Even had only known Lucas for a week, and in that time they hadn’t spoken for longer than a few hours.

“Then I’m an idiot,” Even agreed, turning the car around a corner, sharply. Lucas knocked into the centre console, his hand reaching to brace himself and finding Even’s hand in the process. The car balanced back out and Lucas noted their fingers entwined together. He quickly retracted his touch, pulling his hand to rest in his lap.

“And a terrible driver,” Lucas told him, matter-of-factly. Even gave an airy laugh, and Lucas no less wanted to play it on repeat than when he had first heard it. 

“Or a calculated one.” Lucas’ eyes rested on him, trying to decipher who this mysterious man next to him was. He couldn’t know more, but he needed to. He wanted to know everything about the man who called himself ‘Even’ but lived an entirely different life outside of this all. One who was an artist and… that was all Lucas knew. The real Even was an artist, who was too quick to trust, and worried about Lucas’ wellbeing more than he should have. Lucas craved more.

  
  



	5. Location: unknown || Time: unknown || Date: May n/d, 2020

**Location: _unknown_ || Time: _unknown_ || Date: _May n/d, 2020_**

The room he was in was hot; sticky and sweaty. There seemed to be a window near the ceiling-- which was boarded off or blacked out, but it was too high for Lucas. Even if he was able to free himself and stand on the chair, it was too far out of his reach. He couldn’t make out the walls, in the pitch dark. Maybe if they were bricked, he’d be able to scale them. Maybe if he could break the window, stand on the chair and jump, he’d be able to catch the ledge. He made a mental note that if any lights would come on, that he would have to look carefully at the walls. 

The Americans were slowly starting to become Lucas’ least favourite group of government agents, and it wasn’t because they were going to torture him. No, it was because they lacked any decorame and sophistication that the French, and even the British, had. 

He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious for, but he was beginning to find the isolation getting to him. Sometimes the best torture wasn’t the phsyical one. Anyone could withstand a punch to the face, or the slicing of a finger. Sure they would hurt momentarily like a motherfucker, but after it was all said and done, you lived through it. Not everyone could handle their own thoughts, eating away at them like a constant nagging voice of unreasonable reason. The broken flashes of the fight in the hotel room, the memory of the worry that built up in his chest, the moment he knew he couldn’t get away. 

Lucas was starting to understand why the American prisons favoured isolated solitary as their punishment of choice. It was a perfect tactic to scare straight, to coax a confession, to slowly kill a person. Lucas felt himself slipping, the more he tried to fend it away. The more he tried to get himself free from the bindings on his wrists and feet, the drowsier he became. He was feeling light headed. It could have been from an inevitable concussion he was nursing or from the exhaustion of the fight he put up earlier. Either way, Lucas was falling back into the blackness of his mind, and he couldn’t stop it. He just let himself go.

  
  



	6. Location: Berlin, Germany || Time: 20h30 || Date: April 17, 2019

**Location: _Berlin, Germany_ || Time: _20h30_ || Date: _April 17, 2019_**

They had two hours before their plan was to be set in motion. They had only worked one case together a few months back, but Lucas was finding Even to be a reliable partner. Lucas didn’t have the easiest time trusting people, even those who he worked with for years, but there was something about Even that just made him feel safe. Lucas had thought Even was an idiot to trust Lucas within a few days of knowing him, but he’d be lying if he didn’t feel the odd connection they had. It was like a magnetic force that drew them closer and closer to each other.

They were arranging the hotel room for Lucas’ rendezvous; bugging the unsuspecting objects, hiding weapons for Lucas to access should anything go south. Running meetings outside of their own room was always the safest for him; allowing him full control of the environment. ‘Dates’ that lead back to the enemy's room always meant having backup ready to jump into action at the faintest sign of distress. Lucas was never packing on these operations as being felt up came with the territory, so that left the hotel room to conceal a gun or two, the odd knife, and many blunt force objects. 

Having finished setting up the room, the two agents found themselves laying on the bed staring up at the ceiling in a comfortable silence. The space between them was far enough for them to not touch, but close enough that Lucas felt like his body was on fire.

“Have you killed anyone?” Even broke the silence, his hands laced over his chest. Lucas was silent at the sudden question. “Isak?” 

“Huh? Oh,” Lucas began with a jolt. “Yeah.”

“How many?” Even’s voice was faraway, lost in his thoughts. Lucas shrugged against the bed. 

“How honest do you want me to be?” Lucas asked seriously. This was a serious conversation. Even turned his head, pressing his cheek into the blanket to look at him. His gaze burned on the side of Lucas' face. “Well, definitely more than one but less than… maybe 20?” 

“That’s a big gap,” Even noted, and Lucas could hear the small smile that was on his lips. 

“You just got here. Soon you’ll realize how everyday blends together. Every face, every mission. Every kill evidently only becomes a statistic on your record and just a blackout in your mind.” Lucas admitted, turning his face into the mattress to meet his eye. They laid in a moment of quiet, the pause overcoming them as they looked at each other. Even looked as beautiful up close as he did from afar. 

“Do you really like it?” Even asked, his voice soft. 

“Yeah, I do. But…”

“But…?” Even repeated, hanging onto his word. Lucas bit his lip, the sudden urge for honesty washing over him. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to tell him everything. 

“I miss being loved for real,” Lucas’ voice was barely above a whisper. “I miss loving for real.” There was a pause before the other boy reached his hand across the space and brushed it over Lucas’ cheek, resting it under his jaw and against his neck. Lucas closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. With the dip of his head, Even brought their lips so close together that Lucas could feel the static emanating between them. His breath was warm against Lucas’ mouth and it was too tempting not to close the gap, and so in a small swift move, Lucas pushed their lips together. He heard himself sigh against the kiss, as he let the feeling of warm, safety encircle him. It was soft and sweet, something Lucas had never felt before. It was unlike all the kisses he experienced. There was no greedy hunger, and yet it was so full of want that it made Lucas’ stomach turn with an unrelenting need.

Lucas brought his arm over Even’s shoulders, pressing his palm to the back of his neck, and pulling him closer. He never wanted this to end, because for the first time in a very long time, Lucas was in the arms of someone who he wanted to be held by. Even moved to hold onto Lucas’ waist, drawing their bodies against each other in a motion that made Lucas open his mouth. Their kiss deepened and it was here in this dingedy German hotel room that Lucas made himself a part of a dangerous secret. One that could get them both killed. One that made one another liabilities for each other. One that Lucas had no guide for how to handle. This was one secret that they had no choice but to keep.   


  
  



	7. Location: Orleans, France || Time: 1h02 || Date: November 1, 2019

**Location: _Orleans, France_ || Time: _1h02_ || Date: _November 1, 2019_**

They were in another hotel room, but this time of their own accord. They had been meeting up in secret outside of work whenever they could for the past few months. It was risky, as everything was for them, but they couldn’t stop. Everytime they were apart, whether it was due to a mission, or due to it being unsafe to meet, it felt as if Lucas was missing part of himself. It was as if he was an addict experiencing withdrawals, unable to function without Even at least nearby. It wasn’t like there weren’t relationships in the office, statistically their had to be, but they were _extremely_ discouraged. Everyone had real lives, with real names, and families and friends, but once you became a field agent, you became your alias. You separate yourself from your old reality in exchange for your new one. Relationships with other agents were difficult because you weren’t allowed to be honest about who you really were because it was a security risk-- it was a safety risk for both of you. In this job, life expectancy was unsettling, yet predictably low. Getting captured was more common than not, and the identity of spies to foreign counterintelligence was worth millions. 

Yet, here Lucas and Even were wrapped in each other’s arms in an unbreakable hold. Even had gone on a mission for the past month. They weren’t allowed any contact with each other, out of fear that it would put Even in danger if his cover was blown. Lucas still didn’t know what he had been tasked with doing, but when Even arrived at the room, he had held onto Lucas and wouldn't let go. Lucas hated seeing him like this; broken and hurt, but it came with the paycheque.

They stood tangled for what felt like hours, Even's face tucked in the crook of Lucas' neck his breath warm on his skin. When they did finally part, Even's touch moved to Lucas' face, taking his cheeks in his hands to carefully study him. Neither of them spoke as they took each other in. Even's eyes were glossy with the emotions that he had been keeping back, and now they threatened to tumble over the edge. Lucas went to speak, but Even cut him off crashing their lips together. It became like a song and dance for them each time they kisses; a choreographed routine that spiked his adrenaline like a performer on stage. 

Lucas pulled him down to his height by the back of his neck, steadying his hold on him as their mouths parted to deepen the kiss. Even's grip on his waist brought their bodies together with enough pressure to make him gasp but not enough to bruise. Lucas could never be bruised or marked, especially by Even. Without sacrificing the heated kiss, they moved towards the bed with a skilled precision that only came with having immediately memorized the layout of the room; a side effect of their training. 

Even lowered Lucas onto the mattress with a guiding hand, the younger man's back now pressing into the uncomfortable motel bedding. Even's body hovered his, his shadow casting over Lucas as they finally separated for air. The shine in Even's eyes had returned, and Lucas' breath hitch in his throat when he predicted what was about to happen.

“I love you, Isak,” Even spoke, a dazed look softening his features. As Lucas looked up at the man, he felt it in his bones, deep within himself, that he would never love anyone like Even. It wasn’t a sudden realization, but it was frightening. He knew that this was it for him; Even was his forever, as long as that may be. 

“ _Lucas_ ,” Lucas corrected with a shaky voice. Eliott blinked down at him, his lips parting slightly in realization and Lucas found himself crying as relief rolled over him. He hadn’t spoken his own name for so long, that it was almost foreign on his tongue. “My name is Lucas," he clarified slowly, in the bout of silence.

The corners of Even's mouth twitched into a gentle smile as he reached to brush Lucas’ tears away in a loving gesture. He brought their lips together, pressing them as close as they could get. Lucas gripped onto his shirt, wrapping the soft cotton material in his hands like a lifeline. 

“ _Eliott_ ,” he other boy whispered. Lucas ran his thumb over Even-- _Eliott’s_ bottom lip.

“That's the most beautiful name,” he told him, as their foreheads met in rest. 

“I love you so much, Lucas.” Hearing his name spoken on Eliott’s lips, the way his mouth curled around the vowels and the consonants, made his heart pound in his chest. He felt like he could combust, and he would be okay with it. With a swift move, Lucas had Eliott pinned beneath him, his legs bracketing his thighs as the leaned forward to bring their faces inches apart.

“I love you so much too, Eliott.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The AMOUNT OF TIMES I wrote "Eliott" instead of "Even" is frustratingly high, my lord. In my head it's Eliott and Lucas kissing so that's how I was mindlessly writing it until I would read back a few lines and remember "Oh shit-- wait!" and then I had to go and change his name back to Even a million times.


	8. Location: Paris, France || Time: 23h47  || Date: March 14, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to look at the dates before each chapter! Time jumps are frequent and you can be a bit confused if you don't!

**Location: _Paris, France_ || Time: _23h47_ || Date: _March 14, 2020_**

They made an impulsive decision that made today the most wonderful day of Lucas’ life. Eliott was asleep next to him, his arms wrapped around Lucas’ waist, his face buried in the smaller boy’s neck. They were in Lucas’ apartment; somewhere they only went a handful of times, and normally when they were feeling extremely risky. After tonight though, Eliott would be staying here with Lucas indefinitely. Thinking of it brought a stupid grin to his lips and made him want to squeel and jump up and down like a child at Christmas. He would have to take it off tomorrow before work, but Lucas wanted to wear it for as long as he could. The silver band fit snugly on his ring finger, and stood as a continuous reminder of their love. Eliott’s matching one felt cool as it rested against a patch of bare skin where Lucas’ shirt rode up. Inside, their mantra  _ Minute by Minute _ was etched into the metal. That’s how they made it through, in a world where every moment they spent with each other could be their last. It was a morbid thought that neither of them lingered too long on, but it was a present echo in their minds nonetheless. They were young--Lucas was twenty four, Eliott twenty six, but it didn’t matter to them. Their lives could last another sixty years, or another day and they wanted to make sure that however long they had, it was spent with each other. 


	9. Location: unknown || Time: unknown  || Date: May n/d, 2020

**Location: _unknown_ || Time: _unknown_ || Date: _May n/d, 2020_**

Lucas felt himself get pulled out of his punch induced coma, with the heavy door creaking open for what Lucas assumed was another round. Round three or was it four? He couldn’t remember anything anymore. He didn’t know how long he had been tied to this chair being starved and dehydrated for intel, with only the smallest amount of water and food to keep him alive. He didn’t know what time or day it was; his mind was broken. The light turned on and the bright white glow burned his eyes. 

Lucas dragged his head up with as much determination as he could muster, refusing to go down without a fight. Suddenly he felt cold, a wave of cool air hit him as the door shut. Blinking his eyes awake, he noticed he was stripped down to his boxers and he could only imagine why. The man was waiting for Lucas’ attention, his dark dress shirt had its sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His knuckles were bruised from the defence that Lucas’ face had been put up, and he too looked tired; Lucas was finally wearing him out.

“I thought I wasn’t your type?” Lucas choked out, trying his best to not sound as broken as he felt. The man didn’t smile his usual smug, annoyed look that Lucas had become accustomed to. He was stoic, and it made Lucas’ stomach clench. He didn’t say anything, as he moved forward and that’s when Lucas saw the knife catching the light from the flickering overhead. He was dragging in a chair, settling in front of Lucas. Torture is never about killing; an informant who’s dead is not very useful. Rather, the act was about drawing out slow and painful moments which broke a person’s will until they caved. The man pushed his shoulders back, resting the knife in his lap. In his features, he had signs of sympathy, his lips pressed into a line, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleaded, with an almost convincingly genuine feigning of humanity. Lucas knew that he didn’t really care. You couldn’t have morals and ethics to keep someone starved and tied to a chair for God knows how long. The Americans, like all other government agencies, didn’t hire soft hearted cowards. The man leaned forward, his face in the space between them close enough to make Lucas want to pull away. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Lucas looked at him. “No, not what I think, what I  _ know. _ I know that you’re lying. I know that you’re not some random hooker. I know you work for French intelligence and that you were trying to take one of my men hostage for interrogation.” The man’s eyes narrowed at Lucas’ unrelenting silence, only for him to change tactics. He gave the French man a pitiful look. “Don’t suffer for the people who have used you and left you for dead. Tell me what you know, and I’ll make sure the Americans take good care of you. You can come home with us and we’ll set you up with a new life.” Tempting. Lucas brought his head as far back as he could and then smashed it against the American’s head. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Lucas spat, before momentarily regretting the head butt as black spots flickered in front of his vision. Lucas was sure if he didn’t have a concussion before, he certainly had one now. The man pulled away at the hit, trying to hide the pain that was probably flooding over him. His initial look of shock had been replaced with a glare as his hand shot up and grabbed Lucas by the face, pressing his fingers into Lucas’ bruised cheeks to hold him steady. Lucas groaned as the man applied more pressure to the wounds. 

“You are hiding so much from me,” he said, searching Lucas’ eyes for an indication that he was correct. Lucas couldn’t do anything but stare back in his dusty grey-green eyes. They seemed lifeless up close, like that of a doll. “I’m going to find out one way or another what you know.” He ran the flat side of the knife’s blade down Lucas’ arm, the cool steel making him flinch against his burning hot skin. “Why did you have him tied down to a bed?” He asked, dropping his hold on Lucas’ face. The French spy didn’t reply, just kept his deadly look. “Why was he drugged? What do the French know about him?” 

A sudden sharp pain that shot up his arm as the knife slashed across his skin made him clench his likely dislocated jaw to bury his scream. The cut wasn’t deep across his bicep, but it was doing it’s job. Blood began to drip down his arm, pooling on the ground below him. Untreated, Lucas could bleed out and get infected-- it wasn’t about killing him immediately, it was about the slow death that only the American could stop with the right words. 

“What do the French want to get out of him?” Another slash, below the first. More blood. More pain. Lucas bit his tongue. It would take more than a few cuts to get him to talk.

  
  



	10. Location: Paris, France || Time: 21h21 || Date: May 1, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _21h21_ || Date: _May 1, 2020_**

Lucas knew it was all going wrong. The feeling in the pit of his stomach warned him long before he could register the dangerous situation he was walking into. The moment when it began to go wrong played over and over behind his eyes. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” the man cooed to Lucas, as he ran his hands down the younger boy’s sides. His fingers grabbed his ass, and pulled him closer to his body.

“No touching the merchandise,” Lucas tisked, breaking from his hold with a flirty tone. He needed to get into the man’s room and knock him out, so that Eliott could take over for an interrogation. They had good reason to believe this man was selling secrets to the Americans, intel that Lucas didn’t have clearance to know the extent of. He was a traitor to the country; a French man working under the American flag, and when Lucas questioned Eliott about it, he said that this man could put them all at risk. The thought alone made him worried. This mission was important, but it wasn’t going to plan. They had sent Lucas and Eliott to collect the man. Another agent was waiting for them across the street in an unmarked car for the transfer, and a few more were waiting at hq for the interrogation. 

But, Lucas hadn’t been able to slip the ‘liquid sleep’ drug into the man’s drink and so he had to find another way of getting it into his system. He couldn’t risk just hitting him over the head, they needed him in perfect condition. 

He and Eliott hadn’t been on operations together since the summer, both of them being shipped off around the world on different cases. Lucas was glad he was with him tonight, it was comforting to know someone he trusted would be there to watch his back. Lucas would be going into this unarmed, and the last thing he needed was someone who couldn’t handle themselves let alone another person. Somewhere in the room, Eliott was keeping hidden, his eyes on him the entire time. It relaxed him. 

Lucas smiled sweetly to the French-American, running his finger over his chest. Leaning into his ear, he brushed his lips over his helix, his breath hot and sweet. 

“How about we take this back to your room?” Under his touch, he could feel him weaken at Lucas’ demand. “I want you.” 

It was fascinating to watch how three simple words could turn such a put together man into a heap of moldable clay. Taking Lucas by the waist, the man walked them up the grand staircase that wrapped around the foyer. The two thousand euro a night, four flight Parisian hotel was extravagant and under different circumstances, Lucas would have been in awe of the glamour of it all. The chandelier that hung above them, the checkered tiled floors, and the historical wood and style made it feel extremely classy. Perhaps when this was all over, he’d try to convince Eliott to let them blow their savings on a room for a night. The thought made him even more excited to get this entire evening done and over with. As they landed on the fourth floor, the man led them towards a beautifully carved wooden door at the end of the hall. Lucas knew that Eliott was following them, although when he glanced over his shoulder, he hadn’t seen him. Disguised under the pretense of tucking back a strand of hair, Lucas gave a touch to the small earpiece he was wearing, adjusting it. Something in Lucas’ stomach sent a warning to his brain, but he pushed it down, chalking it up to nerves over the importance of the case. 

As the door unlocked, Lucas took the lead. It clicked closed behind him, and the younger man was running his hands all over the man, making him wired to his touch. Lucas dragged his lips over his neck, up to his cheek, and brushed over his mouth. The man shuttered and Lucas thought that his plan B might actually work. Pushing him against the wall, Lucas got his fingers around the buttons of his shirt. 

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” Lucas asked in a breathy voice, as he worked his way down all the buttons. The man choked on his answer and Lucas held back a laugh.

“Mmm,” Lucas mused, running his hands down his bare chest. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Suddenly the man’s phone rang in his pocket. He reached for it, but Lucas grabbed his hand, pressing his leg between the man’s thighs. He moaned, biting his lip. “Just me and you. I’ll take good care of you,” he promised through his eyelashes. The man let out a shaky breath, and with what seemed like Hurculanian will power, gently nudged Lucas off him to answer the phone. 

“What is it?” he said, picking up the call. Lucas needed him off the phone so this shit could get on the move. Lucas pushed up against him again, the man seemingly holding his breath. Lucas put his mouth to his collarbone, before working his way down. 

“I’m busy,” he spoke harshly into the phone in English. “Well then just… here… soon…” Lucas was trying to pick up on the conversation but he couldn’t make it out. Lucas reached his belt and began to undo it with his teeth. “I-- I have to go.” The man hung up the phone and pulled Lucas up by his shirt, pressing their mouths together. Lucas didn’t really kiss the men that he worked on, but he wasn’t against it. Although, after Eliott, Lucas had stayed away from it; the gesture carrying too much intimacy in his mind now. 

“Are you ready?” Lucas broke away, an innocent smile on his features. The man gave him a hungry growl in response. 

“What do you want to do?” he asked, and Lucas giggled at the question. He had everything planned out.

“I have a fun idea,” Lucas told him, pulling the opened dress shirt off the man’s shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving only the man’s tie against his bare chest. 

Lucas had swung it over his shoulder, earlier to move it out of the way, but now reaching for it, he loosened it. “Do you want to have fun with me?” 

The man eagerly nodded, and Lucas took off the tie. Next, his belt, before pulling him towards the bed. He told him to get on it, which he did with the enthusiasm of having won the lottery. Lucas held the tie in one hand, the belt in his other, and while straddling him, Lucas bound his wrists to the bed posts. 

“I,” Lucas began, tightening the belt around one of the man’s wrists. Dropping his head, Lucas brought his lips so close to his mouth that they were brushing. “Will be right back.” 

Lucas now stood in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He took a breath before digging the little bottle of ‘liquid sleep’ out of his pocket. Stripping down to his boxers, he took the vial and coated his index finger and middle finger of his right hand in the drug. This better work or Lucas was going to be whacking him upside the head with a shoe. 

The man’s eyes raked him with lust when he returned to the foot of the bed. He gave a shy smile, before climbing up to sit on the man’s chest. 

“Open your mouth,” Lucas purred, and the man did as he was asked, excepting Lucas’ fingers with a hurried enthusiasm. When diluted in a drink, the drug can take effect anywhere between ten to fifteen minutes. When taken straight, undiluted, the drug worked instantaneously. As Lucas retracted his hands, he watched the man’s eyes becoming heavy. 

“Sweet dreams,” Lucas winked and the man was out like a light. Rolling his eyes, Lucas got off of him, dropping to his feet on the ground. Quickly, Lucas went to wash his hands, the feeling of saliva on his fingers making his skin crawl. Really, he could use a shower and a bottle of mouthwash. Getting dressed, Lucas went for the room’s door, not bothering to look through the looking glass. Swinging it open, Lucas was expecting to see his husband waiting patiently for him to complete the first phase of the plan, but he wasn’t. 

“I’m done--” Lucas paused, taking note who was on the other side of the open door. Lucas’ knuckles turned white as his hand gripped onto the handle. “Uh, can I help you boys?” Towering over him, were two men, distinctively not French. They stood wide with broad shoulders, their faces cold and emotionless. They were the cliche of ‘goons’; big and intimidating. They didn’t reply to Lucas, but rather looked at him with a suspicious gaze. The men shared a look between themselves, before barreling past Lucas. One of them grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him further into the room with them. His masterpiece was asleep, still tied up awaiting Eliott, and Lucas knew that this was where he’d die. Looking back and forth between the man and Lucas, the Americans were piecing it all together. Lucas was unarmed, with his only source of lethal defence being currently MIA. Where was Eliott? Was he alright? Why was he late? Those three questions bounced around in his head but the one that he should have been asking is  _ what will happen to me? _

There were two ways this was going to play out. They could kill Lucas where he stands, with the Americans covering up his murder. Or, the more likely: they were going to take him hostage. The latter left Lucas with no other option: fight. He couldn’t risk being taken alive. 

Reaching out with his free arm, Lucas grabbed at whatever he could. Taking a vase that was sitting on the nearby table, he swung it, smashing it against the agent’s head. The porcelain shattered, shrapnel flying in all directions. Ducking his face away from the shards, Lucas yanked at the loosened grip on his wrist. Pulling his arm free, Lucas tried to run, but felt two other arms grabbing him from around the waist, pulling him back, making him lose his footing. Lucas still had his arms free, and in reaching up, he grabbed the back of the second man’s neck and pulled down, sending him tumbling over Lucas’ shoulder onto the ground. Lucas was small but he put up one hell of a fight when he needed to. 

The second man groaned on the floor and Lucas looked up to find the first, who should have crumpled with the hit on the head. Rather, the man seemed unbothered by the pieces of a vintage vase in his hair, if not a bit dazed. 

Lucas was blocked in, back up to the wall next to the bed. To his right, the door was being guarded by the first man. The window was too far for him to reach without getting tackled. The bathroom was a deadend and the last thing Lucas needed was to be enclosed in a smaller space. As the man came towards him, Lucas noticed he was armed, a gun strapped under his jacket. It confirmed that they weren’t going to kill him just yet, which meant they planned to do many worse things. 

Lucas looked around him and grabbed the lamp that sat on the bedside table. Yanking the cord out of the socket, Lucas gave a prayer and threw it. It smacked in the centre of his chest, knocking him back stumbling onto the ground. With him down, Lucas dashed for the door, but he made the fatal mistake of not checking on the second man. He was reaching for the handle when he felt himself get dragged backwards by the loop of his pants. 

Before he could kick him off, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his upper arm with a pinch. Eyes wide, he saw the second man stabbing what looked like a pen into his skin with clear annoyance and frustration set in the lines of his face. Feeling himself growing limp, he knew all too well that it wasn’t just a ballpoint, but rather a pen disguised to harbour a sleep inducing drug similar to the ‘liquid sleep’ he had used on the French traitor. 

_ “Isak?” _ Eliott’s voice sounded through the earpiece, which in Lucas' attempt to survive, he had forgotten about. He opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t feel his tongue anymore; it felt as if he was stuffed with cotton. His knees buckled under his weight before giving out, sending him into the arms of the American. He felt the man pull the earpiece out of Lucas’ ear, tossing it onto the floor, crushing it under his shoe. In one swift motion, Lucas was being tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. His eyelids began to grow heavy, unable to keep open and soon enough they fell completely shut, sending him spiraling into the darkness. As he let himself be absorbed into the numbness, he let one word echo in his mind:  _ Eliott _ . 

  
  



	11. Location: unknown || Time: unknown || Date: May n/d, 2020

**Location: _unknown_ || Time: _unknown_ || Date: _May n/d,_ _2020_**

Lucas hissed as a third slash came across his upper arm, the blade digging in a bit deeper with this cut. The American pulled back, resting against the back of his chair casually holding the knife’s butt on his knee, blood dripping down onto his pants.

“You have about an hour with those,” the man spoke as he marvelled at the cuts. “Less if I keep adding more and more.” Lucas remained silent still. “I’d give you fifteen minutes if I start slicing through the inside of your forearm… making my way down,” he spoke as if he was coming up with this on the spot. “To your wrists.”

“Making it look like a suicide?” Lucas gave a humourless laugh. 

“Hooker found dead in bathtub after commiting suicide” he motioned with his hand as if he were picturing a headline. 

“You Americans aren’t very creative,” Lucas fired back, albeit weakly. The man smiled at him.

“I don’t need to be creative. I just need to be unsuspecting,” his words were cool and calculated. “I can make your death seem like an accident in fifty different ways. I can dispose of your body with the flick of my wrist.” There was a pause and then the man began speaking again.

“You have no records,” the man continued as he rose from his chair, wiping the knife on his leg. “Do you think we haven’t looked into you  _ Lucas?”  _ Lucas' throat closed. “That is what your real name is, right? Not your cover name, but your actual name? Your parents are divorced, your mother died after she drowned herself. You are an only child, and you haven’t spoken to your father in five years when you ran away. But--” the man chimed in, stopping his pacing to lean on the back of his chair. “We found something  _ very, very _ interesting. Or should I say  _ someone _ very, very interesting. Does the name  _ Eliott Demaury _ strike a nerve?” Lucas tried to make it not show, but he knew that the American saw all he needed to. A smile curled on his lips; wicked and evil.

“Ah,  _ Eliott _ . An artist born in Lyon, France. He moved to the big city of Paris only a few years ago. The funny thing is, his records like yours, seem to stop as if he completely disappeared on the face of the earth, until just this March.  _ March 14th, 2020,  _ when he got married to one Lucas Lallemant.” He sat back down. 

“I know you’ve been lying to me Lucas. I know you’re mixed up with French intelligence, and I will bet everything that so is your husband. Cute love story by the way. Met on the job, got hitched in secret-- well not so in secret, but what can you do. Legal documents are the bane of all agents’ existence.” Lucas was already broken. He was already hanging on by a thread. He was trying to push him over the edge. 

“Let the American’s take care of you, Lucas,” he tried again. “You and Eliott can start a new life in the US. New identities, together, far from all of this business.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucas forced the mantra from his mouth. “I don’t know any  _ Lucas _ or Eliott. My name is Isak--”

“Are we still on this?” the American sighed with exhaustion. “Come on, what will it take, hmm?” There was a pause. “Oh, oh, I see. Don’t worry we’re already working on it.” Lucas met his eye with confusion. 

“What are you working on,” he humoured him. The man’s smirk came back.

“Finding out Eliott’s cover identity. My informant, the one who you tied to a bed, knows his way into your dear department’s systems. Once I have it, I’m sure you will do anything to keep his cover from being leaked to the Russians, the British, the Germans, the Spanish-- within seconds, he will be  _ killed _ .” Lucas was feeling the effects of the gashes in his arm. He may have an hour before bleeding out on a normal day, but Lucas’ body wasn’t in it’s peak condition now. His head slumped down, his eyes fighting against the urge to close. He wanted to fight back, but he felt like he had been dipped in molasses, his entire body heavy and slow. His eyes flickered up, looking through his hair as a muffled sound came from outside the room. The American’s head whipped around, his focus drawing to the door. He casted one more look at Lucas before deciding that he was needed elsewhere. In the short time that the door was open, Lucas could hear a shout, then a burst of silence. The American rushed out, the door closing, leaving Lucas in his chair fighting against the wave of unconsciousness that was threatening to flood over him again. Another shout, another loud crash, another stream of silence. Suddenly the door swung open, the door handle slamming into the wall. Lucas’ eyes closed; he couldn’t hold it abay any longer. He felt a pair of hands on him, lifting his face up. They weren’t rough, but gentle and shaking. Lucas pushed against every fiber in his being, forcing his eyes to open only for a brief moment. 

“My love,” Eliott whispered, studying him, taking in all the damage. Lucas wanted to speak, but his voice was lost. His eyes couldn’t hold open anymore so they fell, shielding him in the blackness of his eyelids. His hearing was the last to go, as his mind began to shut down. “Don’t worry, I have you.” The beautiful voice began to fade. “Stay awake,” it begged. “You have to stay awake.” But Lucas couldn’t. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this marks the end of Lucas' POV! Eliott will be taking over from here on out <3


	12. Location: Rome, Italy || Time: 20h32 || Date: June 30, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eliott's POV begins from here on out!

**Location: Rome, Italy || Time: _20h32_ || Date: _June 30,_ _2020_**

Eliott held the flute of champagne to his mouth, his fingers pinching the stem of the glass delicately. His eyes passed over the room, with a careful gaze, scanning the faces of each person they found. He caught the stare of a girl with long brown hair, her red lipstick striking against her pale skin. Her hand was resting lightly on the arm of a man much older than her, as he whispered something in her ear. The string quartet was playing a piece off to the side of the room, the melodic song flooding the room of expensive looking Italians. The gala was nothing if not extravagant, but Eliott was not here to enjoy his time

She ran her hand along her date’s back, her fingers tracing a line like a choreographed dance of seduction. The man inclined his head to her and her lips hovered above his ear, almost staining his helix red. The older gentleman had his hand placed on the small of her back, just above the deep cut of her black dress. If it sunk any lower, Eliott feared that he would be witnessing a fashion faux-pas. 

He observed the subtle change in the man’s body language, finding the slight pull in his shoulders, the small flinch of his hand. She smiled at him through her lashes and the man swallowed, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his room card. He handed it to her, saying something that Eliott could make out as  _ ‘soon’ _ ; his lips pouting and retracting around the single word. She brushed her thumb along his jaw, before turning and walking off.

Sparrows were some of the most important agents in the department. Their ability to get people to divulge secrets with calculated and precise words and movements, asstounded Eliott, although he may be a little biased. The lady walked past Eliott, her eyes beckoning him to follow as so he did. His attention lingered on her as he lowered his drink, placing it on the tray of a nearby waiter. Swiftly, he passed around a lingering group of men sharing a laugh about something, their dates holding frozen smiles of fake contentment. Never losing sight of the woman, he trailed her from a distance as she turned a corner out of the museum’s foyer. 

Her heels clicked down the front steps, the breeze sending her hair flying around her. She rounded down a path, turning her cheek over her shoulder to make sure of his presence. 

“The code?” Eliott asked in a low voice as they met in the shadow of the night. She reached into the front of her dress and revealed a small paper. “You never cease to amaze.” Eva rolled her eyes at his comment, as she passed him the note.

“My talents are what they are.” Eliott casted her a small smile, and her eyes looked at him with friendliness. “You worry too much.” She lifted her wrist to check her watch-- a delicate chain bracelet with a small face of a clock on it. “He should be done. You better get going, before he worries about you.” 

“And you?” he asked, looking at the room key in her hand. “You’re not really going to go are you?”

“Of course not,” she rolled her eyes. “I just needed to get away from him. He was clingy. Now go, you’re spending too much time here.” 

Eliott made his way across the street to the hotel, looking up at the penthouse suite, he noted the unsettling fact that the room’s light was off. He buried his worry that always seemed to linger these days, and he crossed the street. 

Entering the elevator, he was not alone. Three women were deep in conversation, speaking in English; British accents apparent as they spoke. Another man was silently standing on the other end, his eyes far away as they stared off at the floor numbers, lost in thought. The code was burning a hole in his pocket as he rode up to the top floor. Eliott kept his head low, his hands in his pant pockets. If everything was going to plan upstairs, the rest of the night would go by without a hitch.

The ladies got off first. Next, the man, leaving Eliott to finish the ascent on his own. When the doors dinged open, Eliott made his way down the hall to the last door. Reaching for the knob, he pushed the unlocked door open. Shutting it quietly behind him, he looked around the room. It looked untouched, clean as if uninhabited. The room’s lights were off, but it didn’t necessarily meet anything. The inside was being lit by the moon, as curtains on the floor to ceiling windows were drawn open. His hand hovered over his gun strapped under his, now unbuttoned, suit jacket. The suite was divided into two. The living room near the front entrance, and a partition which separates it from the bedroom. There was a creak of a floorboard, and he squinted at the divider which was left ajar. A sigh of relief slipped from his mouth as they pulled back, revealing his accomplice. 

“Got it?” Lucas asked, looking disheveled, his dress shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his figure. His hair was tousled, as he stood leaning against the sliding door. Eliott pulled out the slip of paper from his pocket, earning a wicked smile from Lucas. 

“Did you…?” Eliott began, walking over to him and passing him the code. Over his husband’s shoulder, he could see the man laying on the bed, completely unconscious. The glass of wine on the bedside table, having been drunk fully. 

“Didn’t struggle,” Lucas told him, walking over to the desk pushed up against the wall on the over side of the living room. He began to put on a pair of black gloves which Eliott hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Although,” he continued, as he pulled at the latex so that it snapped around his fingers. “He weighs more than he looks. Pulling myself out from under that plank was a real workout.” 

“How are you feeling?” Eliott asked, letting his worry slip into his tone. Lucas turned over his shoulder, sending him a sweet smile before facing the wall again. He lifted the painting off its hook, revealing the room’s safe.

“Like I took a shot of adrenaline. It felt like riding a bike,” Lucas confessed, setting the still life on the desk. They had been on leave for a few months when they had been called back in for this mission. Lucas was eager to get back to work after all the time cooped up in hiding and even Eliott had to admit that he too had begun to feel restless without the job.

Eliott looked at the man on the bed again. 

“Oh, he won’t remember a single thing when he wakes up,” Lucas said, catching him looking. The man was dressed down to his boxers, his face pressed into the pillow, his hair hanging over his eyes. He looked as if he had drunken an entire bar, and the smell of alcohol emanating off of him didn’t help prove otherwise. 

“Merciful,” Eliott huffed, before walking over to Lucas. “I say let the bastard remember what he couldn’t have.” The younger boy gave a laugh at the comment, as the safe clicked open under his touch. The small square door popped open and Lucas gave a curse, his smile fading.

“What’s wrong?” Eliott hurried over, his eyes falling on the disaster ahead of them: an empty safe. “Where is it?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Lucas swore, his arms falling to his sides. “But we’ve got less than ten minutes before Happy-Go-Lucky’s wife shows up from the gala wondering why he ditched her.”

“We’ve got to find that USB,” Eliott agreed, shutting the safe with his elbow. Lucas hung the painting back up before starting to carefully, but quickly, tear through the desk.

“Eva wasted her time getting the override code,” Lucas muttered as they began their search. Eliott agreed.

“I feel bad that she had to… you know,” Eliott trailed off, with the wave of his hand before moving to look through a suitcase that was laying open on the sofa. 

“Do what? Fuck a disgusting old man to get it?” Eliott wrinkled his nose at his husband’s bluntness. “Still makes you wince after all these years, huh?” Lucas noticed, with a sympathetic tone. Eliott remembered the first time he had to take blackmail photos. Lucas had led the older guy into the room, Eliott witnessing it all through the lens of a camera. Then Lucas had looked to him through the window, knowing that he was there watching him. He had to look away, his stomach churning at the sight of Lucas having to prostitute himself because the government asked him to. 

“I’ll never be over it,” Eliott flickered his eyes to Lucas, their gaze meeting. “I think you’re worth so much more, but I’m not going to stop you or tell you you can’t. Just because I love you doesn’t mean I get to tell you what to do.” Something passed before Lucas’ brilliant blue eyes. “Plus,” Eliott added, looking back down at the luggage. “I do fucked up shit too.” 

“ _ Fucked up shit _ ,” Lucas laughed in a mocking tone. “Yeah, that’s one way you can put it.” Eliott dug through the clothes to find nothing, and by the exasperated groans Lucas was making, neither did he. 

“We would need hours in here to search, and we don’t have that kind of time,” Eliott announced, with a sigh. “We have to get going, like now.” Lucas gave another look around the room, thinking. 

“Where would you keep a USB full of state secrets?” Lucas wondered aloud, for the both of them.

“Super close to me,” Eliott answered with a shrug. Lucas raked his teeth over his bottom lip and if they were in any other situation, Eliott would have found it extremely sexy. Suddenly, Lucas’ eyes shot up to meet his.

“Would he be dumb enough to keep it in his pants?” Sharing a look, they both rushed to the bedroom. Lucas lunged for the dress pants that had been tossed to the side of the room. He began searching through them, as Eliott looked at the man again, catching something odd. 

“He didn’t take off his shoes?” Eliott inquired, nodding to the guy. Lucas looked up at him, tossing the empty pants back onto the floor in defeat.

“Huh?”

“Who takes off all their clothes to have sex but not their shoes?” Eliott questioned, reaching for the unconscious man's feet and holding them up. On the bottom of one of the soles, there was an odd difference; one was slightly thicker. Eliott took hold of the heel and yanked on it. Nothing happened. He felt around the sides and then, he found it. Pressing at the same time on both sides of the heel, a small click sounded. The heel popped off like a vacuum attachment sliding out of place. The USB was tucked inside the shoe’s heel. 

“I fucking love you, you know that right?” Lucas told him, when Eliott unsheathed the small hard drive. Closing the shoe, Eliott returned the man’s leg to the bed.

Eliott turned to his husband, only to be pulled in by the collar of his shirt, his lips crashing into Lucas. His mouth tasted sweet, of the sugar and cherries from whatever drink he had. Eliott, anchored his arm around his waist, pulling him against his body. They would have stood there forever but they had to go before they were discovered. Lucas took the glass which had held the drug, and with the USB safely in French hands, the two of them slipped from the hotel room. Passing a maid’s trolly by a nearby room, Lucas stealthily put the glass on the cart before they entered the elevator. Eliott looked at Lucas, a grin breaking on his face. 

“What?” he said, before following Eliott’s gaze down to his undone shirt. “You were really going to let me walk around like this?” he teased, playfully as he quickly buttoned his dress shirt back up. 

“I’ve missed you,” Eliott broke honestly, as he watched him fix himself in the elevator’s mirror. 

“You live with me,” Lucas said, running his fingers through his hair. “How can you miss me? You must be sick of me, especially after being on leave--” Eliott pulled him into his arms. 

“--I could never be sick of you,” he spoke into his hair. He hugged him perhaps a little too tightly, making his thoughts clear. 

“I will  _ never _ blame you,” Lucas whispered, his voice small. “I will say it everyday if I have to.” Eliott wasn’t letting go.

“You almost died.” 

“But I didn’t,” Lucas argued weakly. “You saved me, like I knew you would.” Lucas pulled back, to place a hand on his cheek. “I love you.”

  
  



	13. Location: Provence, France || Time: 10h23 || Date: May 4, 2020

**Location: Provence, France || Time: _10h23_ || Date: _May 4,_ _2020_**

Eliott had killed many people. Eliott had committed crimes for the sake of his country that his morals sometimes struggled with. Eliott had only been with the department for a year, but he had seen things that would scar the most hardened criminals. But standing in the doorway of a makeshift torture room in the basemet of an American safehouse in Provence, France, was when Eliott was ready to quit. 

Lucas was stripped down, tied to a chair, his head slumped forward, his arms and legs bound tightly with zip ties. His right arm was bleeding with three gashes running horizontally across his bicep. The blood was pooling to the ground, and spreading out with every drip. Eliott rushed to him, lifting his head, and taking one look at his face, Eliott thought he might be dead. His face was purple and yellow with bruises. His lip was busted, his jaw swollen. His eyes were blackened, and he was too weak to keep them open for more than a millisecond. He was sweating from the sauna like temperatures in the room, and his body was thinner than it had been a few days ago. 

“My love,” Eliott choked out, his voice catching in his throat. “Don’t worry, I have you,” he muttered to him, as he reached for the knife in his belt. Lucas’ head tipped and Eliott knew he had lost whatever bit of him was awake. 

“Stay awake,” Eliott began to plead. “You have to stay awake.” But Lucas was out. Eliott rested his husband’s head onto his shoulder as he cut his hands and legs free. At the sudden release, Lucas' unconscious body crumpled in on itself and Eliott had to stop himself from crying. Carefully, making sure not to hurt him, Eliott scooped him up into his arms.

In the hall outside, three Americans were down-- two shot, and one was knocked out. Stepping over them, Eliott saw the two agents that came with him. They looked at the practically dead Lucas and they dropped their gaze.

“I want him brought in,” Eliott spat to them. “I want to know everything he knows. They don’t take one of our agents without suffering for it.” The woman nodded, and she motioned for her partner to help her bind the guys on the ground. Eliott bit his tongue as he carried Lucas up the stairs to the car that was waiting. They had to get him to the hospital as fast as he could.

Laying him in the backseat of the car, Eliott rummaged through a bag to find a shirt. Tearing at it, he ripped a stripe of fabric off and quickly tied it around Lucas’ arm hoping to stop the incessant bleeding. When he was bandaged up, albeit without the precision of a doctor, Eliott pulled out a heavy metal box from the trunk. 

Speaking to him as if he was listening, Eliott said, “I’ll be right back, my love,” before carrying the dangerous crate to the house. Noora was waiting for him at the door.

“Two of them are dead,” Noora announced, nodding at the basement.

“Fuck,” Eliott cursed, lifting his hand to run through his hair, only to see it covered in Lucas’ blood. He quickly dropped it and swallowed down the bubble of pain in his throat.

“And the clean up crew?” he asked her, trying to keep himself together. Noora checked her phone. 

“On their way. We’re going to comb through the place. Take what we can, then torch it. You got the stuff?” Eliott gave her the box that was filled with devices to plant. “They’re going to be here for the American too. They’re going to take him back to HQ. You better get Isak to a hospital. Julie says that they know you’re coming and they have a  _ special _ team waiting for you.” 

“Keep me updated,” Eliott told her and she nodded, before beginning her search of the area. Once his back was turned to her and he was on his path back to the car, he let out a shaky breath as tears brimmed his eyes and a scream was trapped in his lungs.

  
  
  



	14. Location: Paris, France || Time: 9h02 || Date: May 5, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _9h02_ || Date: _May 5,_ _2020_**

Lucas was being treated in Provence and getting brought back to Paris to be taken care of here, under the protection of the department. No matter how much Eliott wanted to be sitting by his side while he recovered, he had somewhere else to be. Lucas still hadn’t woken up, and the worry that he might never, ate away at Eliott every second of the day. It was his fault. All of it. Eliott felt sick knowing that Lucas could die hating Eliott, and he would deserve it. He should have been the one held captive for three days, not Lucas. 

Closing the heavy metal door behind him, the sound echoed off the thick walls of the room. In the centre, a single chair. Eliott considered it poetic justice, as the American sat bound to the seat with zipties; the environment mimicking that of Lucas’ torture room. The American didn’t look scared, but Eliott could change that. The French agent leaned against the door, hands in his pockets. He had discarded his jacket at his desk, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and as he tapped his shoe against the ground, he could see the anticipation in the captive’s eye. Eliott looked at him, a friendly smile on his face, one that could be removed as easily as it was put on. 

“Hello,” Eliott said in French purposefully. The man didn’t reply, his jaw set tightly. “American, right?” Eliott spoke, this time switching to the man’s native tongue. “You know, we can always tell. I don’t know what it is per say, but the French have a special talent for picking American’s out of the crowd. That’s why our pickpockets are so renowned,” Eliott gave a short chuckle. 

“You do know why you’re here, yes?” Eliott asked, pushing himself off the wall. He began to walk the perimeter of the room, letting one hand out of his pocket to run through his hair, before returning it. The man still didn’t answer. “No? That’s alright, I am more than happy to share with you why. Three of our agents completed a sting operation,” Eliott began explaining. “A rescue mission that led us to your front door, if you can recall. You see, you took one of our men and in doing so, you sent the entire agency up in arms.”

“Do you mean  _ Lucas _ ?” The sound of his real name, dripping in an American accent that pronounced the ‘s’ made Eliott’s back straighten. “I’ve found his entire file.”

“Have you now?” Eliott asked, coming up behind him. “Well it seems like you’ve just cemented your death wish.” 

“You would have killed me regardless.” 

“Then why bother telling me?” Eliott questioned, giving into his game. The man turned his head over his shoulder to look at him from the side of his eye. 

“Because I want you to know the power we have. If I can find it, so can anybody else.” He straightened his head to look at the door again.

“What else have you found,” Eliott asked, continuing to make his way around the room. 

“Why would I tell you?” the man spat. 

“Because I can give you immunity. You’re on  _ my _ soil, Matthews. You came to  _ France _ , you committed crimes against a government agent in  _ France _ , you are out of power.” Eliott wasn’t lying. This man wouldn’t get the chance to be extradited back to America. He would be punished here. The man shifted. 

“I’d rather die than betray my country,” Matthews said with determination. 

“Fine by me,” Eliott shrugged, walking to the door. “Enjoy your death.” 

“You’re not--”

“No,” Eliott smiled, turning around. His hand was on the door, ready to leave. “We French have a bit more charm to our technique. You see, I won’t waste my time hitting you. Starvation takes about a few weeks but dehydration will kill you in about three days. Enjoy rotting away in here.” Eliott left before he could say anything, shutting the door behind him. Walking down the hall, he marched straight for Noora. 

“What did you find at the house?” Eliott asked, as she sat surrounded by evidence bags. She looked up at him.

“You get a good punch in?” she nodded towards the interrogation room. He shook his head.

“I’m dragging this one out the good old fashion way. So, anything important?” 

“Bunch of mission files that are being sorted by the operations team. Weapons, disguises, passports, money-- all the regular stuff.”

“Did you find anything about… Isak?” Noora gave him an odd look. “About his real identity?” 

“Should I have?” 

“The American said he was able to figure it out,” Eliott told her, leaning against her desk. She whistled. 

“Maybe he was lying,” she tried to remain optimistic. 

“No… he knows it. He said it.” She leaned back in her chair, clicking a pen. Her brown hair hung to her shoulders, loose from it’s normal clipped up style. Her red lipstick was peeling away as she chewed at her lip. 

“How do you know that name was correct?” Eliott looked to his feet, before giving her a look that shared more than he wished to. Her eyes widened slightly, in realization. 

“I see, well… I’ll keep an eye out for any names that seem out of place, yes?” Eliott nodded, before standing up straight. “Have you gone to see him?” Eliott couldn’t meet her gaze now that it knew too much.

“I can’t,” he told her, his voice soft. She kicked his shin, making him jump.

“Yes you can.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me. I’m the reason…”  _ he was tortured for three days and was brought to the brink of death.  _ Nora huffed, tossing her pen onto her desk. 

“Stop pitying yourself. If what you’re telling me about your  _ friendship _ is true, then there is no way he blames you. So stop moping. He’s been transferred to our infirmary upstairs. You are three floors away, you have literally no excuse.” 

  
  



	15. Location: Paris, France || Time: 9h32 || Date: May 5, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _9h32_ || Date: _May 5,_ _2020_**

The infirmary always gave Eliott the shivers; the clean white halls that smelled of sanitation bleach and sickness. The rooms weren’t much different, with their purgatory-esque design. Lucas laid, still sleeping, under a blue blanket that made his pale skin look more sickly. Eliott hadn’t seen him since he passed him off to the attending staff at the Provence hospital

His face looked just as bruised, his lips were still swollen, but his jaw was put back in place. His arm was stitched and bandaged, with an IV sticking out of his forearm. He was clean, with a peaceful rested look on his features. He looked dead. 

Eliott was holding his breath the entire time he studied his husband. He realized that he hadn’t let himself  _ feel _ anything the past three days. From the moment Lucas was taken, up until now, he had suppressed any emotion and replaced it with rigorous effort. He spent every waking moment searching for him, working with the department to track him down. After he found him, he drove back to Paris in a seven hour silence in which he focused on how he would interrogate the American-- on the possible things the American knew. When he got back, he had stayed awake in the office trying to distract himself. Now, standing in the infirmary private room, staring down at Lucas, he couldn’t ignore the burning feeling in his throat. He began to cry, quiet and slow, biting down on his lip as he dropped to the foot of his bed, his knees hitting the ground with a thud and a sharp pain shooting up his legs. He hung his head into his hands, unable to stop his crying now. It was his fault. All of it. 

  
  



	16. Location: Paris, France || Time: 21h21 || Date: May 1, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _21h21_ || Date: _May 1, 2020_**

Eliott sipped his drink, as he watched Lucas from the far corner of the room. His eyes looked at him from over the rim of his glass, his attention set on the French traitor’s hands on Lucas ass. As the younger boy shifted out of the man’s touch, Eliott recalled his training on how to read body language-- the skill being rather useful in this line of work. However skilled he was in observing the subtle changes in people’s postures and facial expressions, he didn’t need to be a genius to understand the uncomfortable pull in Lucas’ shoulders at the touch. They exchanged a few words, before Lucas leaned in close to the man’s ear and whispered something. With the small flutter of his eyelashes, the French man took Lucas by the waist and they bounded for the hotel foyer. 

Eliott didn’t think he would ever get used to watching other people touch Lucas the way he did. Just that morning it had been his hands on Lucas’ body, his mouth leaving kisses along his skin, his ears listening to the sounds that escaped the sparrow’s lips. Seeing these men with Lucas always left a bad taste in his mouth, even if he knew it was all for show. But however jealous he felt, he knew Lucas was good at his job. That he was precise and calculated and scripted, and those facts brought a sense of comfort to Eliott. His husband could handle himself and he slept easier knowing that. 

Watching Lucas' figure disappear behind the first bend, Eliott polished off his drink, before rising to follow them. The entire hotel was small scale, with only sixteen rooms divided amongst four floors of extremely glamorous decor. The unjustifiable price for a suite made Eliott’s face scrunch up at the thought. Yet, he was sure that later that night, Lucas would attempt to convince him to take out a mortgage for a room. Just the single thought was enough to cause an easy smile to settle on his features.

Crossing the tiled foyer, Eliott stood at the bottom of the steps, letting a couple pass by on their way down. They were as unsuspecting as the rest of the rich elites spending their evening here; unaware of the top secret espionage mission currently in the works just under their noses. Eliott made his way up the steps, noting that Lucas should have already reached his room by now. Eliott had watched his face shift as the man declined his drink, the gears in Lucas’ head creating a plan B in his mind. Hopefully whatever he had in mind wouldn’t take very long. 

Eliott was halfway up the first landing when he paused, the two grand doors of the hotel opening. Two men entered, and narrowing his eyes, Eliott peered down at them. Making his steps linger, he trailed their movements. He was beginning to get a strange feeling about the whole situation. It wasn’t until he heard the tail end of an American accent that they had fully captured his attention. Casting a look up the staircase, he made a split second decision. Turning around, Eliott made his way back to the foyer keeping the men in his peripheral vision the entire time. Glancing down at his watch, Eliott gave himself five minutes before needing to be upstairs. They made their way to the bar at the front of the salon. The salon, which was filled with elite upper class guests spending their Friday night in a classy looking seating area, chatting each other up. The men took a seat on a sofa near the entrance of the salon, their eyes unresting as they searched around the room in wait. Eliott tipped his head to hide his face as he walked past them, to sit a few seats away. Keeping his ear to them, he attempted to pick up on their conversation. 

“Where is he?” one of the American said in English, his leg bouncing with impatience. He swept his blond hair from his eyes, pushing the stray strand up on his head. The other man shrugged, hanging his hands between his knees as he leaned forward. “He was supposed to be here by now,” he continued, in a voice so quiet that Eliott found himself leaning slightly to hear. 

“Should we call him?” the second man suggested with a shrug of his shoulder. The blond gave it thought before reaching into the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. Dialing a number, he lifted it to his ear. 

“Hey,” he began the call, when the recipient answered. “Where are you?... we’re here… Where are you?... Are you coming down? Well--” he abruptly stopped, looking down at his phone with a glare. 

“What’s wrong?” his friend asked. The blond scoffed, returning his phone to his pocket. 

“Fucker hung up on me,” he cursed, in disbelief. “He does know who we are right?”

“Yeah, but he also knows we need him.”

“Eliott?” a voice called his real name. A woman walked into the salon towards him, with an expression of surprise. Her short brown hair bounced with every step she took, a peaceful look of contentment resting on her features. Eliott thought he would never see her again, and as she stopped, standing in front of him, he wished he had been right. 

“Lucille?” Her name felt different on his tongue then it had three years ago, when he last spoke it. She looked like she belonged amongst everyone in the room, her style still reflecting her parent’s wealth. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her jewelry catching on the lights in the room, making them shine. She represented everything in his past, before he found himself in this job, before he found Lucas. She was everything he was trying to get away from. 

“How are you?” she asked, a soft, plesent smile on her lips. Eliott was still in shock of seeing her again.

“What are you doing back?” She smoothed down her long, light spring jacket. 

“I am only visiting,” Lucille answered. “I’m still living in Madrid.” Her decision to pursue university in Spain had come as a shock to Eliott, mainly because she had never mentioned the country or the fact that she spoke Spanish before. It had definitely taken him aback when she broke the news to him. She cleared her throat, her eyes dropping for a moment before returning to his. 

“I have to admit,” she began, shifting her footing. “This is not where or how I expected to see you again.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Eliott spoke and she blinked at him.

“We didn’t leave off on an… amicable footing,” she added with a slight hesitation in her wording.

“Well I didn’t expect you to up and leave me so abruptly,” he bit back, his face void of any emotion; stone cold. Her thin smile faltered for a brief moment, before turning into a wince, her lips pinching in the corner. 

“I’m sorry for that… I just--”

“--it’s okay Lucille. Water under the bridge,” he waved her off, not wanting to hear her excuses. “I’ve moved on.” If only Eliott was able to wear his wedding band to work, if only he had Lucas on his arm to proudly show off, then maybe she’d be able to see how little he thought of her.  _ Lucas.  _

“So what brings you here? Are you meeting someone?” Her words brought Eliott back into the harsh reality; pulling him out of the past and into the present. Immediately, Eliott turned to where the two Americans had been seated and he found himself jumping to his feet when he realized they had disappeared. Lucille looked at his sudden action oddly. 

“Eliott? Is everything alright?” He scanned the room, unable to find them. 

“I have to go,” he said pushing past her. She held onto his elbow, and he looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Is something wrong?” He opened his mouth, but closed it, unable to answer her question. Pulling from her touch, he didn’t have time to apologize for having to leave so quickly before dashing for the front doors of the hotel. Swinging them open, he prayed to find them outside, walking off into the night air but he was unlucky. Cursing, Eliott looked around the empty foyer before realizing the worst had happened.  _ Lucas. _ He hurried up the stairs, thoughts running rampant in his mind. 

“Isak?” he asked into his earpiece. The static buzz of nothingness made his chest constrict. “Isak?” he called out again. This time, he was met with a loud beep coming from the other end. His hand flew up to his ear at the deafening sound and he yanked the piece out, stuffing it into his pocket. 

One flight. 

Two.

Three.

Making it up to the fourth floor, he sprinted to the last door down the long corridor. Every prayer he could be saying, to every God, to every divine being, to every universe was floating around his mind. 

Yanking open the hotel room door, he felt all the air in his lungs disappear and he was left gasping. There was what seemed like remnants of a shattered vase, the flowers wilting on the ground surrounded by water. Chairs had been knocked over, a lamp was in the middle of the room, it’s shade having popped off laying near it. A dress shirt was discarded by the door and as was a pair of shoes. The bed looked a mess-- the blanket wrinkled, a loose tie and belt hanging around the posts. Most notably, at Eliott’s feet there were the discernable broken fragments of Lucas’ earpiece, having been crushed under someone’s foot. 

The window on the far side of the room was open, leading to a fire escape. It was rare for this type of emergency exit to be found in Parisian hotels, but some did, typically the newer models with street access. The bastards got lucky-- there was no way they could have carried Lucas out the front of the hotel. Rushing over to the metal staircase, Eliott spotted a black car parked below, the blond American shutting the trunk, before rounding it to get in the driver’s seat. 

Eliott didn’t take a second more to think. He ran down the escape, jumping over the last floor’s railing as the car started to pull away. Chasing it, Eliott found his phone in his pocket and managed to dial a number without tripping over himself.

“Noora!” he panted once she picked up. 

“Even? Is it done?” Eliott followed the car as it took a corner, dodging a group of tourists taking a picture of something in the distance. His feet were hitting the pavement hard, as he refused to slow down. 

“They took Isak!” he told her frantically. “Black car, heading south on your block. CN-498-JC,” he recited the license plate number to her. “Do you see it?”

“Yes!” she shouted, and he could hear the car engine turn on.

“He’s in the trunk! They're going to get on the highway! You have to tail it! ” Nora cursed and he saw her car speed past him as he let his feet come to a halt.

“Call Julie!” he heard her scream before the call disconnected. He couldn’t breathe, his lungs burning with every gasp he took. People were giving him strange looks as they passed, but he couldn’t care less. Every part of himself was about to fall apart. His phone fell to his side, as he felt his arm go numb. The longer he stared off into the distance, the more the realization began to seep in. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel his feet or his arms, he felt guilt and worry gnawing at him from the inside out. 

Pushing through the dropping pain in his stomach, he dialed one last number. 

“Even, has it been done?” Julie’s voice came through; her strict serious tone making him sober up. 

“There’s a situation.” The formality of the words made Eliott feel sick.  _ The love of my life is going to be killed and it’s all my fault. _

“What is it?” she asked immediately, with a stern strength. Eliott let his feet carry him into an alley, far from any listening civilians. He let the back of his head rest against the wall of a building, pressing his body against the brick, as his legs threatened to send him dropping to the ground. 

“Two American agents have Isak and Marquis. I have Noora chasing after the car but it doesn’t look good.” 

“Fuck,” Julie swore, sighing into the speaker. “Even, I need you to go back to the room-- I’ll send a team. No one was in that room, understood?” 

“Will they kill him?” Even found himself asking, trying to hide his shallow breathing. She went silent on the other end, pausing to select her words carefully. 

“I need that room looking untouched. Everything is bagged and brought in,” and with that, she hung up.

  
  



	17. Location: Paris, France || Time: 9h36 || Date: May 5, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _9h36_ || Date: _May 5,_ _2020_**

Eliott couldn’t stop his sobs, muffling them against the blue blanket on the bed. His hands were locked in his hair, his fingers gripped at strands as his body shook. When Eliott was a child, his mother had raised him up Catholic, taking him to the gothic cathedral that stood at the centre of town which held the secrets of the past in its walls. He had never found the peace in it as his mother had, but he could appreciate the value of having something to believe in; something to pray to. His mother would tell him to pray every night, at the foot of his bed, his hands clasped in front of him as his elbows sunk into the mattress. Now, as he replicated that position at Lucas’ feet, he felt the urge to pray again, even if he no longer believed. 

“Don’t cry,” a hoarse voice spoke softly. Eliott’s head shot up to find Lucas watching him, his own eyes glossy. “I hate seeing you sad.” The noise that Eliott made was between a gasp for air and a strangled cry as he staggered to his feet to rush to his side.

“Lucas,” he whispered, running his hand over his hair. He knew he shouldn’t say his real name aloud, especially when in this building. Lucas smiled up at him weakly. 

“I knew you’d find me.” The younger boy lifted a shaky hand to brush away the tears on Eliott’s face. He turned his face into the touch, placing a kiss to his palm. 

“I love you more than anything,” Eliott told him. “I… I’m--”

“Shhh,” Lucas shushed him, quietly, shaking his head slightly. “I love you too, Eliott. Please don’t apologize.” 

“It’s my fault,” Eliott spoke, his voice breaking from the sob he was holding back. Lucas closed his eyes, his thumb brushing over Eliott’s cheek. 

“It’s not. It’s not,” Lucas promised. “If you would have been on time, it wouldn’t have mattered. They would have still shown up, except they would have hurt you too. Please, I know you. I know you’ve been letting this eat away at you, but don’t let it.”

“You almost died… you looked--” 

“But I didn’t. You saved me, like I knew you would. It will take a lot more than what he did, to ever take me away from you.”

“I know that you just woke up,” Eliott said, hating having to ask. “But I need to know…” Lucas nodded, shifting to sit up. Eliott helped him, until he was upright. The older boy took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lucas told him. “But he knows stuff.” 

“Like your name?” Lucas gave him a confused look. “He may or may not be downstairs in the interrogation room, zip tied to a chair.” 

“I fucking love you,” Lucas gave a weak laugh, shaking his head. 

“If I knew torturing people got you all hot and bothered,” Eliott joked with him, earning a light smack on the arm. “Do you know how he knows?” 

“The informant that got away, but there’s something else.” The way he said it, made Eliott worry. He was looking everywhere but at Eliott. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“He knows about you,” Lucas revealed. Eliott’s brow furrowed. “He knows about  _ Eliott _ and he knows about us. He said he was working on figuring out who your cover was and threatening to release it to the other powers.” The information slapped Eliott in the face, but it was a fear in Lucas’ voice that made him calm.

“He didn’t recognize me in the room,” Eliott told him carefully. “It could have been bluffing to scare you. He’s the only one still alive, the others died. The house is gone now too. I can help Noora comb through the files and look for our names, but right now, you can’t think of that. You just need to get better.” Lucas’ eyes were full of worry and the bags under his eyes were prominent against his pale face.

“But--”

“No, my love. You need to rest. I’ll handle it.”

  
  
  



	18. Location: Paris, France || Time: 10h00 || Date: May 5, 2020

**Location: Paris, France || Time: _10h00_ || Date: _May 5,_ _2020_**

Eliott left Lucas to rest, his eyes struggling to keep open despite his argument that he wasn’t tired. As much as he wanted to watch him, Eliott had to find Julie as soon as possible. Shutting the door to Lucas’ infirmary room, he bounded for the elevator. 

Her office was always strange to walk into, as it was so strikingly different to her personality-- or at least the one she fronted at work. The bureaucracy of the workplace stopped at her threshold, and inside it was like a small apartment of personal space. 

Although she came off as cold and strict, Eliott always found that she had a soft spot under her layers of hard shell, and her office made him think he was right. Her walls were painted a soft grey, unlike the bright white of the rest of the building. She had a rug on the ground, which she said she brought back from her time spent undercover in Iran. There were paintings on the walls; each one from a different country she visited. At the centre of it all, stood her heavy, dark wood, desk. It was pushed closer to the window at the back of the room, with two sofa chairs positioned ahead of it. Today, she was engrossed in a large stack of files, her attention entirely drawn to the papers in her hand. 

“Julie?” Eliott knocked at her open door. She looked above the rim of her glasses, which threatened to slip from her nose. 

“Even,” she replied, looking back down for a moment before, placing the sheet onto the desk and removing her glasses. She placed them in front of her, as she motioned for him to enter and shut the door. He moved to sit across from her. 

“Something’s come up,” Eliott told her the second they were closed off from listening ears. Her face dropped, her eyes becoming serious. She leaned forward, listening. “I went to see… Isak,” Eliott hesitated almost calling him Lucas. “He woke up and I asked him if anything happened while he was being held captive. He said that they didn’t get anything out of him but that they knew stuff about him. They knew his real identity and his cover.”

“How did they manage that?” she asked, lines of worry creasing her forehead. 

“Apparently the French traitor that we were bringing in under suspicion, actually has a way into our servers. I don’t know how much he knows, or how much he’s told.” Julie swept aside her files, in exchange for her computer. The sound of rapid clicking echoed throughout the room that had fallen silent. Her face was set with purpose as she began to handle what Eliott was safely certain was a ‘crisis’.

“Did he say if they knew of any other agents?” Eliott licked his lips, pausing at her question. With his silence, her eyes flickered from the screen over to him, her typing coming to a stop.

“They knew my real identity but not my cover… like just that I work here, but not my alias.” Julie looked at him with careful eyes.

“How did he find you without your cover?” Eliott bit the inside of his cheek, wishing Lucas was sitting next to him. 

“He found me through Isak’s personal file,” Eliott explained, out of necessity. Her eyes narrowed. 

“His personal file? Why would you be in his file?” she demanded to know. Eliott shifted in his seat and her eyes became knowing, but she didn’t speak. She waited for his response.

“Because outside of our aliases,” Eliott began. “We’re married.” 

“Married?” she said carefully, lingering over the word. 

“He found the court document attached to his legal name, and then found my personal file through that, and Isak said that he was trying to figure out my cover identity.”

“Do you believe this?” Eliott thought about it, and shrugged. 

“I have Noora searching the files for any French agents, he did know Isak’s identity, but he didn’t recognize me in the interrogation. I believe if he had been attempting to reverse engineer the system, he hadn’t succeeded yet.” Julie didn’t address him further, as she reached for her office phone. She pressed two buttons and brought it up to her ear, her stare still fixed on Eliott.

“David?” she said once the line picked up. “We have an issue. I need to call an emergency meeting with the head of each department, get them all in the conference room right now. I need all system servers frozen, and I need to pull together a team. We have a manhunt on our hands. We need to increase the search efforts for Marquis de Fauvel-- he’s proven himself more dangerous than we thought. All airports, train stations, buses-- if it's moving in and out of France, I need it looking for this man. Let's get an interpol warrant for him spread throughout the allies. I have a feeling we need to send a team to the US.” She hummed at something David said and then hung up the phone, leaning forward on her desk with her fingers laced. 

“You’re on leave starting now,” Julie told him. Eliott opened his mouth to protest but she raised her hand. “No, you and your husband are at risk for having your identities exposed, so you are  _ both _ on leave. You are to not use your alias-- you will be reassigned new ones once I call you back to work. As of today, you are your actual selves.” 

“What do you want us to do?” 

“Nothing,” she said, seriously. “Consider this a honeymoon, except you can’t leave the country. Go away, preferably to a rural town and lay low. We can set you up with a safe house in Lyon if you’d like somewhere familiar.” Eliott looked at her. “Please, Even, I do know who you are. You are from Lyon, and I’m sure you would like to keep an eye on your parents under these circumstances, no?” 

“Yes,” Eliott replied, nodding. She hit her hands against her desk.

“Then it’s settled. I will get the house arranged for you-- stocked with protective equipment of course. Whenever Isak is released from the care unit, I will have you both in a car heading east. Now off you go. Go see him and tell him what’s happening.” Eliott stood up and walked to the door. “Oh, and Even?” 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Congratulations on the wedding, and do share my gratitude with Isak. He made the nation proud.” And there it was. The soft spot. “Now get out of my face.” 

“Thank you, J,” Eliott said, turning to face her.

“Next time you plan on getting hitched, let me know first so that I can prepare for the end of the world, huh?” 

“We were hoping by not saying anything, it would be safer,” Eliott confessed, sadly. 

“We discourage work relationships because these things, as you have now experienced, can be security risks, dangerous and sometimes lethal,” she told him, her tone sympathetic but stern. “But that doesn’t mean that people haven’t tried and succeeded. You two can succeed.” 

“Does that mean we can tell people, now?” Eliott asked, his tone more playful.

“Yes, well, people will be curious why our entire system is going into lockdown, might as well give everyone a reason to buy a cake.” 

  
  
  
  



	19. Location: Lyon, France || Time: 13h08 || Date: May 10, 2020

**Location: Lyon, France || Time: _13h08_ || Date: _May 10,_ _2020_**

The house was quiet when Eliott unlocked the front door, the peaceful calm settling over them like a soothing song. Lucas was standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder as the door shut closed. They both looked at the place they would call home for the next while and the serenity that wrapped around them. Lucas’ eyes were taking it all in, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a small smile. Eliott passed his gaze over the space, the quaint living room that branched into a kitchen; the staircase that led to the bedroom off to the side of the entrance. He felt Lucas take his hand and it sent little sparks up his fingers. 

On the ground there were boxes that had been sent up by the office, with a white legal sized envelope resting atop of the stack. They walked over to it, and Lucas curled his arm around Eliott’s, resting his head against the taller boy’s shoulder. Eliott opened the envelope and pulled out the white crisp paper with the font that they receive casefile memos in. 

> Lucas Demaury-Lallemant and Eliott Demaury-Lallemant:
> 
> Updates will arrive as they are necessary. Until further notice, your leave from the department will consist of following safe-house protocol and refraining from the following:
> 
>   * Communicating with co-workers 
>   * Working on any case files or other tasks which are expected of employees
>   * Using your alias and communicating as your alias
>   * Breaking any restrictions and rules as outlined by the department 
> 

> 
> Should you need to reach the department for any reason deemed an emergency, you may reach the public hotline, signing in with your employee number and alias information. 
> 
> The department thanks you for your services, and wishes you a safe and enjoyable leave. 
> 
> Until further communications, 
> 
> Julie. 
> 
> (stay out of trouble and I will see you both hopefully soon)

“I told you she had a soft spot for us,” Eliott said, holding the paper as proof. Lucas chuckled, taking it from his hands to look it over again. Checking the backside, Lucas found something else. 

> I read over your personal files and I hope I did a good job with the office.

“What does she mean by this?” Lucas asked, when he finished reading the message. Eliott furrowed his brow, shrugging. Lucas mouthed ‘the office’, before looking at Eliott with an odd look. 

“What?” Eliott said, before Lucas took off up the stairs with a purposeful stride. Eliott followed him, intrigued by what he was searching for. Opening the first door in the hall, they found a bedroom. The next, was a washroom, but the last was an office. They both let out a small gasp as they stepped inside. Marveling at the space, they both lingered in the doorway, processing it. 

The room was perfect. An easel was set up in the far corner of the room, with blank canvases stacked up against the wall. A closet was open, revealing a storage of art supplies that made it seem like the shelves of an art store. In the other corner, was a piano for Lucas. He said he hadn’t played since he ran away those many years back. The right wall was lined with a bookcase, filled like a library. Lucas was the first to move further in, taking shakey steps until he reached the piano as if in a hypnotic daze. Eliott watched on as he ran his fingers over the keys, hovering them slightly so as to not make noise.

“Play me something?” Eliott asked, breaking the silence. His words pulled Lucas from his head, his head pulling up over his shoulder to look at him. 

“I don’t even know if I remember how…” his voice faltered. Eliott put his hands in his pocket, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. 

“You won’t know unless you try.” Lucas dropped his gaze and Eliott studied him. His face was still bruised, battered even. Should anyone ask, he was in a car accident, his face having been hit by the airbag. The lie made Eliott’s stomach twist. Although Lucas’ jacket covered it, Eliott knew that his arm was still bandaged, and every now and then, Lucas would catch his eyes staring at the cuts and he would say the same thing everytime. _I love you._ Eliott found it painfully twisted that he was the one who was being comforted after it all, and Eliott _knew_ Lucas was hurting. Not just physically, but Eliott could tell that he isn't sleeping properly. That his paranoia has spiked, that he flinches everytime he thinks about it. That he has nightmares, that he constantly relives it. All Eliott wanted to do was take the burden away, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew Lucas would have to seek counseling at work, and Eliott might have to as well. 

“I’m not as good as you think I am,” Lucas said, trying to lower Eliott’s expectations. Eliott smiled at him. 

“Lucas, you could literally play Frère Jacques and I would be amazed.” Lucas snorted, before turning back to the piano.

“You say that now,” he replied with a laugh. He pulled the bench out and took a seat. Eliott stayed where he was, not wanting to intrude on such a moment. Lucas stayed sitting with his hands on the keys, unmoving for a minute. His shoulders were pulled taut with tension, and although he couldn’t see his face, Eliott knew he was chewing his lip. He moved his foot onto the peddle, and after a small breath, he began to play. Music filled the room with a heartwarming passion that made Eliott’s breath hitch. 

When the song came to an end, Lucas sat frozen for a moment, before turning to face judgement-- ridicule that never came. Eliott blinked away the tears on his eyelashes that hadn’t spilt. Lucas swallowed, bringing his hands into his lap. 

“That was amazing,” Eliott finally said, finding his words again. Lucas pressed his lips together.

“I mean, it’s not Frère Jacques but…” He looked up. “It’s called ‘I love you’.” 

“You’re a surprising person,” Eliott announced, kindly. Lucas hummed softly at the comment, looking around the room.

“Maybe we’ll never have to go back.” He pushed to the end of the bench and tapped the other side, calling Eliott to join him.

Sitting next to him, they looked out in front of them. He bumped their shoulders together lightly.

“You know,” Eliott began. “Julie said this is our honeymoon.” Lucas looked at him from the corner of his eye. 

“She’s cheaping out,” he tisked. “Bundling our vacation days with our forced leave of absence.” 

“Government must have cut the funding,” Eliott agreed. There was a pause.

“I love you, Eliott.” His eyes were looking up at him like big glass orbs, full of honesty and love. Sometimes, Eliott didn’t think he deserved to be looked at in that way, and he especially didn’t think he deserved to be looked at like that by Lucas.

“I love you too, Lucas.” He leaned down, carefully placing a gentle kiss on the smaller boy’s lips. Lucas winced, but pressed his hand to the back of Eliott’s neck stopping him from pulling away. They stayed like that for a moment, reveling in the bliss that was surrounding them like a bubble. When they did pull apart, they rested their foreheads together.

“We’re going to have to unpack soon,” Lucas sighed, in the silence.

“Yeah, Julie defently filled those boxes with a shit load of guns and defence weapons.” Lucas gave a breathy laugh, before pulling away. 

“Maybe we should go take care of those right now.” 

“Wouldn’t want the house to explode,” Eliott added, standing up. “Especially if your friend in Tactical Development packed it.” 

“What do you have against Basile?”

“The fact that you know his actual name is all I need to make my case.” Lucas slapped his arm as they made their way out of the room. 

“First one down gets their pick of weapon!” Lucas shouted abruptly as they stepped into the hall. Eliott didn’t have time to react as Lucas sprinted passed him and down the stairs. 

“Cheater!” Eliott cried racing after him, not bothering to hide his growing smile. Lucas had already reached the bottom of the steps, sticking his tongue up at him. 

“I win!” He exclaimed, reaching for the first box. Eliott sat on the bottom step, watching as Lucas opened it and began sorting through its contents. “I wonder if they gave us any throwing stars.”

“You don’t know how to use throwing stars,” Eliott informed him, reclining his elbows on the step behind him.

“You don’t know that. I’m a master of so many skills. How do you know I can’t use throwing stars?” 

“Apologies,” Eliott said, playfully. “I wasn’t aware that your skills reached as far as throwing stars.” 

“I have many skills and talents, thank you very much.” 

“Yes, I think I remember you telling me that when we first met.” Lucas met his eye, a smirk on his lips. 

“You blushed so easily,” Lucas recalled, leaning an arm on the stack of boxes. “You got all flustered. So innocent back then.” 

“I’m not innocent anymore?” Lucas raised his eyebrows at the question.

“I think I changed that pretty quickly,” he spoke, his voice almost purring. A blush crept up high on Eliott’s cheeks, and Lucas laughed. “Yup, I still got it,” he patted himself on the back. Eliott flipped him off, but was promptly ignored.

As Lucas continued to sort through boxes, Eliott realized that maybe this is what he wanted forever. A small house outside of the city. Just him, and Lucas, and a piano, and an easel, far away from being Isak and Even. Far away from it all--- but Eliott also knew that they both loved their jobs no matter how dangerous they were. Maybe in a few years they would change their minds and Eliott could convince Lucas to move out here with him for real. With the comfortable smile on Lucas face and the drop of his shoulders, Eliott didn’t think it would be too hard of a sell. 

They had a lot of things they needed to talk about. Feelings that they needed to share. Horrific, nightmarish, memories they needed to confide to each other. Eliott didn’t know what it would look like when they would return back to work. What it would mean for them as a couple, or for them as individuals. Maybe Julie would make them official partners, or maybe she would separate them further. Before the questions and worries could pile up even further, Eliott pushed them down. For now, he let himself smile as Lucas casted him a questioning look. 

“What?” Lucas asked, catching him staring. 

“I’m just memorizing,” Eliott replied casually, with a shrug. 

“What for?” his husband blushed at the unexpected answer. 

“Just because I can.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I wrote this a while ago but felt nervous to post it since I felt so proud of it, but you have all been so kind with the positive feedback! 
> 
> I'm having thoughts about a sequel but I want to hear your opinion. Would you be interested in seeing more from this parallel universe?


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